


For Reasons Unknown

by provocation



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: 5 Times, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, background Merlin/Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-21 16:42:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12461766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/provocation/pseuds/provocation
Summary: Five times they woke up beside each other (+ one time they went to bed together.)(Set after The Golden Circle.)





	For Reasons Unknown

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kaijugroupiee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaijugroupiee/gifts).



> Merlin is alive with prosthetic legs (and gay). Tilde isn't in this at all, nor is Roxy-- but know that they are also both alive and well. This is my first Kingsman fic, a fandom I never thought I'd write for. Does anyone even still write 5 times fics??  
> Don't ask me how I wound up here; this is all for Nicola. Enjoy and let me know what you thought! ♥

1.

Eggsy’s head is pounding like someone’s standing on his nose and knocking at a door. He lies still for a few moments after waking up, adjusting to the churning nausea and the blood pumping angrily through his veins. It seems to be spelling out a message in Morse, something along the lines of ALCOHOL-WAS-A-MISTAKE over and over.

Finally the sensation that he’s about to heave up every single shot from last night disappears, and he adjusts to the world around him. He’s curled up tightly in the fetal position, so he forces himself to stretch out his legs and arms. There’s a kink in his lower back like someone’s knotted up his spine, and as he curls his toes and takes a shaky breath in, Eggsy becomes aware of something else.

He’s not alone.

Instantly he tries to recall his memories from last night and comes up blank, which sends him into a brief panic. Who brought him here? Is this his bedroom? Does he still have his glasses? His gun? The heels of his feet bump against someone else’s toes, and there’s a noise from behind him. The intruder grumbles, still half-asleep, and then throws an arm across Eggsy’s side.

“Statesmen was wrong,” a voice says, low and honeyed. Eggsy instantly recognizes the voice for its owner and feels a wave of relief, and then feels a new wave of panic. Why the fuck is he waking up in bed next to Tequila? “Alcohol was a mistake.”

“Oh, shit,” Eggsy says, and tries to sit up. His head quickly protests as the bedroom spins around him, and he quickly lies back down. “Shit. _Shit_. Why the fuck are we in bed together?”

There’s a snuffling noise, and Eggsy squirms around until he can roll himself over and face the man. When he does, he instantly stops squirming, eyes going wide.

“Because your headquarters got blown wide open, cupcake,” Tequila slurs without opening his eyes. “Y’all needed sanctuary, and we made you the best offer you were gonna get.”

His hair is a god damn mess. He might still be drunk. He’s the most attractive person Eggsy has ever seen, and Eggsy spaces out looking at him. His jaw is shaved clean, and his tan skin is dusted with freckles. The muscles in his shoulder, even relaxed as they are, are _loads_ bigger than anything Kingsman has ever had to offer.

His lips are slightly parted, and it’s obvious from what Eggsy can see that he’s at _least_ shirtless, if not entirely naked. Eggsy shakes his head. “Not what I mean, bruv,” he says, laughing to hide his absolute panic. He’s had drunken nights with Brandon, sure, but this? This is another thing entirely.

Maybe it’s the colloquialism, or maybe it’s the high-pitched frenetic laughter, but something causes Tequila to open his eyes. Eggsy is the first thing he sees when he does, and he sets his sight on his bedmate with a soft and sleepy look. If he was devastatingly handsome stumbling over his words half-asleep, this Tequila is on another level entirely. He looks at Eggsy with slight confusion, and then his vision travels down to peek under the blanket.

Eggsy reaches to cover himself, but he’s too late— Tequila raises one eyebrow at his new discovery, and then glances at his own body under the blanket. After a short moment of contemplation, he looks up at Eggsy, and grins. “Awesome.”

“Awesome?!” Eggsy squints at Tequila, toes curling despite himself. “Mind explaining to me how the fuck this is awesome? I don’t remember taking you home last night.”

“Yeah, I’m drawing a blank too,” Tequila replies, still smiling broadly. He doesn’t bat an eye. “Maybe you’re still dreamin’.”

Eggsy finally rolls out of bed, shoving Tequila’s arm away, and looks for something to cover himself with. He comes up short, and ends up grabbing the pillow from underneath Tequila’s head, trying not to think about the fact that they shared one pillow. Tequila obligingly lifts his head, which Eggsy sort of hates him for, and reaches up to cover a yawn. “What’s the big rush?”

He pauses, pillow over his dick and eyes searching around the room for his glasses, and looks back at Tequila. If Eggsy really did drunkenly hook up with him, then he’s more than a little upset he doesn’t remember it at all. He frowns, and something flashes across Tequila’s face. “Doesn’t it bother you that you don’t remember how we got here?”

“Honestly?” The man pushes himself up, blanket falling in a pile around his waist, and sits on the bed. “I’ve woken up in worse places, with worse people. Maybe you should learn to roll with the punches.”

“I’m a secret agent,” Eggsy says, and it sounds childish even to his own ears. “I’m supposed to know when the punches are coming.”

Tequila lowers his chin to give him A Look, and Eggsy’s frown purses a little more. He watches Tequila get up, abandoning any pretense at shame and leaving the blanket on the bed. He walks to the corner where his jeans are lying in a crumpled-up heap, and as he bends over to put them on Eggsy desperately tries to pretend he isn’t sneaking multiple peeks at Tequila’s lower body.

Tequila is not fooled, and pauses mid-dressing to turn around and give Eggsy a wink. “Don’t beat yourself up, boyo,” he says, doing up his belt buckle. The words sound strangely self-deprecating. “Happens to the best of us.”

Eggsy wants to scream _yeah, but **what** happened to the best of us_ , but Tequila is already throwing on a shirt and walking out the bedroom door. It’s one of Eggsy’s shirts and doesn’t quite fit him, but Eggsy is still too busy processing everything to say a word. He stands in the centre of his room alone until the sound of a car pulling away catches his attention, and then he runs to the window— but Tequila is already gone.

Eggsy walks over to shut his bedroom door. He finds Tequila’s shirt hanging on the knob, strangely wet. He sees the man’s jacket abandoned in the hallway, where JB2 is sitting atop it with a wagging tail.

He locks the door to his bedroom and then goes back to bed and has the best wank of his entire life.

-

“Merlin,” Eggsy demands an hour later, sitting at the breakfast table alone. He’s set a place for Harry, but in a stroke of exceptionally good luck, the other Galahad is nowhere to be seen. “Merlin. Wake up.”

“Yes, I’m awake,” comes Merlin’s angry Scottish brogue, revealing that he had in fact not been. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t remember what happened last night,” Eggsy says. Radio silence is the only response, so he implores, “ _Please_ , Merlin.”

“D’you think I spend all my time watching your feeds?”

“Yes.”

There is a thick grumble, and then some tapping on a keyboard. “Last night at 2300 hours, you and Agent Tequila decided to re-attempt the Swan rendezvous pickup point with an intact vehicle, while gambling on the results. I believe the exact phrasing here was ‘gonna get real drunk, gonna drive into a lake, gonna prove your horseshit story wrong.’”

Memories begin to flood back to him. “Oh, fuck.”

“I can easily extrapolate from the state of this footage that both of you were under the influence, which makes me think you shouldn’t have been behind the wheel of a car at all, let alone driving into a lake. I suppose I should count myself lucky you didn’t harm anyone else.”

Eggsy takes a sip of orange juice, trying not to roll his eyes. “Skip forward.”

“Alright… when the two of you realized you were not in a vehicle with aquatic capabilities, Tequila opened the door, and you two swam up to the surface. You got your legs tangled in some reeds and panicked, and Agent Tequila pulled you up to the surface.”

Pausing around a mouthful of eggs as a blurry memory clears, Eggsy frowns. “I nearly drowned?”

“No, you were fine. You were being a big baby.”

“He pulled me to the shore… and kissed me?”

“What?” Merlin sounds even more perplexed now, and his tapping grows faster. “No, you two did another shot from a flask he’d kept in his pocket and then you called a cab back to yours.”

Eggsy nods, willing to sagely accept his fate. “And that’s when he kissed me.”

“No. What? He didn’t kiss you at all. According to this video, you stumbled drunkenly into your room, stripped down, and then… both passed out.”

JB2 whines at him from under the table, and Eggsy is inclined to agree. He can’t believe he misunderstood this whole morning— and that only an hour ago he had a wholly naked Tequila in his bed, and he didn’t do _anything_ about it. “So we didn’t even shag? Why the fuck not?”

A heavy sigh comes over the comm. “Galahad. I am a usually busy man, currently trying to do my very complex job while learning to use a new set of very complex legs. I am in the process of healing and the business of handling. I pray you understand that this is in no way part of my fucking job.”

Eggsy, fully wrapped up in his own thoughts, shakes his head. He asks, plaintively, “Why didn’t anything happen?”

He doesn’t realize that Merlin has hung up until there has been no response for a full minute, and then when Eggsy tries to hail him again the line is dead.

 

2.

“Good morning, Eggsy,” comes Merlin’s cheerful voice over the comm. He sounds far too chipper for this early; when Eggsy glances over at the clock, he’s disgusted to discover that it’s not even six in the morning. “I hope you two got a good sleep last night, because you’ve got a long day ahead of you.”

 _You two_ rings around Eggsy’s head and he glances at the seat beside him, where Tequila is still snoring. The details of their situation flood back to him all at once, and Eggsy reaches over and taps Tequila’s shoulder to wake him up. If he’s got to be up this early for this godawful mission, then his partner sure as fuck has to be awake too.

“Morning,” Eggsy yawns, both to Tequila and Merlin. Tequila opens one eye, and then gives Eggsy a groggy nod before closing his eyes again.

He can hear a smile in Merlin’s voice as he continues. He’s never heard Merlin this fucking chipper before ten. “Do you need me to debrief you on the mission?”

“No, I remember the basics.” Eggsy tosses his blanket off, and removes his pillow from where it’s awkwardly been wedged between his neck and the window. Sleeping on a train is never comfortable, but at least this isn’t the Tube; his seat reclines and there’s a functional bathroom on board. “Honeypot operation where the target’s interest is sleeping with married couples, hence our alibis: Jason and Cillian Harding. Preben Rathsack, the target, is a Danish nobleman with expensive tastes, so we’re going to have to wine and dine him pretty damn well.”

Tequila chuckles, and Eggsy tries not to smile. Merlin replies, “Very good, Eggsy. It’s nice to know you actually read the paperwork I send you. Preben may be a nobleman, but he is certainly not a noble man. He’s one of the top heroin suppliers in Copenhagen, so tonight your objective is to learn when his next shipment is departing so we can alert the Danish authorities.”

“I know, I remember,” Eggsy yawns, stretching out in his seat. “Thanks, Merlin.”

When Merlin speaks again, Eggsy can nearly pick up a smile in his tone. “Aren’t you going to ask me if Agent Tequila kissed you last night?”

All the colour instantly drains from Eggsy’s face, and he looks over at Tequila, filled with dread. Tequila raises an eyebrow, looking very confused and slightly entertained. He sits up in his seat and asks, “What do you mean?”

There is a sudden shattering noise as Merlin drops his coffee cup. He stammers, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize this was a conference call. I’ll… uh… call you when your train pulls into Copenhagen.”

-

Jason is different from Tequila in a lot of ways. Eggsy lends many of his mannerisms to Cillian, figuring it’s easier to work with what he knows he can do. Jason, on the other hand, is overpoweringly gentle with everything he does. Where Tequila would take wide, confident steps, Jason looks around and shuffles his feet. Jason doesn’t swear like a sailor or drink from the bottle— he packs water and snacks into his backpack for his nice day out with his husband. Eggsy is floored by the simple action of Tequila folding up his handkerchief and tucking it into his pocket, and how his giant hands are moving in small, careful motions.

“You’re really good at this,” Eggsy murmurs to Tequila— to _Jason_ , and squeezes their hands together. The ring still feels constricting around his finger; he usually isn’t bogged down by accessories that aren’t weaponry.

“Thanks,” Jason says, and he gives Eggsy a shy smile. Eggsy wonders if this is what Tequila used to be like before he joined the Statesmen. Maybe he used to have trouble filling up space, or finding his own charm. It’s nearly impossible to imagine Tequila not being the centre of every room he’s in, but Eggsy knows personally that people can change completely when they enter the business of espionage. He’s living proof of that.

Eggsy feels like he’s being shown up, so he decides to give Cillian a little more flavour; he takes them to a five-star restaurant for lunch and he orders for both of them. Jason frets that it’s going to cost too much, but Cillian reaches across the table to hold his hand and insist that this is a special day for them so lunch is on him.

“Well, thank you, darlin’,” Jason says, ducking his head to smile at the tablecloth. “You are too kind to me.”

“Never,” Eggsy says, running his thumb over Jason’s knuckles and smiling as he brushes over the wedding ring. “I could never be as kind a man as you deserve, darling.”

Tequila looks up at him with sharp eyes, and Eggsy feels pierced, like this whole act is going to fall apart. But then he turns their hands over, and squeezes Eggsy’s palm in his fingers, and when he speaks his voice is meek yet loving. He sounds like a regular Southern belle. “You’re underestimating yourself, Cillian.”

It’s going perfectly, but it feels so wrong. Eggsy wants to go back to that easy teasing from the other morning, when they’d woken up together and Tequila had glanced down at his dick and he’d wanted to die. He’d rather relive that mortification a thousand times over than stay in this fake moment any longer, living in this fake universe where he and Tequila are a happily married couple vacationing in Europe.

Just as Eggsy’s about to lose his cool or break their cover, their server appears with a bottle of expensive prosecco that Eggsy had most definitely _not_ ordered. Eggsy feigns surprise, heart pounding, and shakes his head. “There must be some mistake,” he says in Cillian’s brusque but posh voice. “We didn’t order this.”

“The gentleman over there sent it over,” the server says, gesturing to a table on the patio. Eggsy and Tequila look over, and see a dark-haired man reclined on a couch covered in pillows, smirking at them and waving with two fingers.

Cillian nods back, making sure to keep the motion stiff to hide his excitement. Jason raises a hand and waves back, smiling with fake delight. Merlin chimes in from over the comm, but his words aren’t even necessary: both Eggsy and Tequila know exactly who they’re looking at.

“That’s Preben Rathsack. The richest heroin dealer in all the Nordic countries.”

Preben is wearing sunglasses too wide for his head, and a shirt that looks like it costs more than Eggsy’s old house. He smiles at them, and then beckons them over with two fingers.

-

“You’ll never believe how I met these two,” Preben says to a crowd of wealthy onlookers, all staring enraptured at Eggsy and Tequila. “Today is their first anniversary.”

Preben goes on to recount the story, and Eggsy grips Tequila’s hand a little tighter, smiling over at him. Tequila only has eyes for Preben, laughing and sighing at all the right parts. He looks bashful when Preben talks about getting him drunk, and tries to hide his face in Eggsy’s shoulder at the mention of his American beauty.

It doesn’t work, because Tequila (and Jason) is much taller than Eggsy (and Cillian), and because when Tequila presses their bodies together Eggsy is instantly reminded why this mission is driving him crazy.

“I hate this,” he mutters into Tequila’s neck, lips against his skin.

Strangers applaud them, and as Preben cracks another joke, Tequila whispers back, “Why? Everything’s going perfectly.”

 _Exactly_ , Eggsy wants to indignantly reply, even though that makes no sense. He should be thrilled that they befriended Preben so quickly and got invited to the gala despite being total strangers. He should be thrilled that their fake marriage is so convincing that _three_ different people have offered to be a surrogate for them, should they ever want to have kids.

He should be thrilled that Tequila has kissed him on the cheek and hand _five_ times, but instead, his stomach is full of butterflies and his heart is in his throat. Eggsy almost wants to back out of the mission, but it’s too late now— Preben has promised them access to his private room later, and even though he said it was to celebrate their anniversary, he had hinted with a wink that he might be there as well.

Someone in the corner catches Eggsy’s eye, and he makes a quick excuse of going to find the bathroom. Preben points him towards a hallway, and Eggsy meanders off that way, keeping the person in his peripheral. Sure enough, his intuition was right; the stranger is lying on a bed with a lazy smile on their face, limbs akimbo. There’s a glass pipe on the table beside them, and Eggsy hates that he instantly realizes what’s wrong with them. He had seen this exact scene played out with Dean every now and then. He’s also watched Trainspotting, thanks to an unstoppable childhood crush on Ewan McGregor.

He glances over his shoulder, and sees that the pack of Preben’s friends has dispersed. It’s almost hard to find his partner and his target in the crowd of lush clothing and beautiful people, but when Eggsy finally sees them, his heart speeds up. Tequila has Preben pushed up against a pillar, and is kissing his neck, wide tan hands tracing circles on his pale hips.

Eggsy should feel triumphant that another step in their plan is going right, but instead he feels nothing but deep, dark, angry jealousy. He abandons his plans to go to the bathroom and call Merlin in a panic, and instead he walks right back up to Preben and Tequila.

“Jason,” he says, not bothering to hide the anger in his voice. If they get into a big fight, Preben can console Tequila, and they can still complete the mission. Eggsy just won’t be there to help. When Tequila doesn’t immediately move, Eggsy steps forward until he’s only a foot away from the pair. “ _Jason_.”

Tequila breaks away from Preben’s neck, almost stumbling back from him. He turns to face Eggsy, and all Eggsy can see is thinly veiled disgust in his frown. The realization hits Eggsy that this can’t be easy for Tequila, and he thinks about times he’s had to be a honey trap for people he would rather shoot in the head than fuck.

His jealousy is replaced by a wave of guilt, and he opens his mouth to say something, to apologize— but before he can say anything, Tequila’s eyes go even darker than usual. He keeps walking forward until he crashes into Eggsy, kissing him hard.

“Mmf,” Eggsy manages to get out, and then kisses Tequila without any thought. It’s as easy as falling, and as they lean into each other Eggsy can feel strong hands at his hips and back. He feels like he’s burning up all over, and he realizes he’s pushing himself up onto his toes to kiss Tequila better, but he can’t feel any shame in it. They’re supposed to be married, aren’t they?

Tequila pulls away and Eggsy follows for a moment before rocking back down onto his feet and regaining his bearings. He wipes off his mouth on the back of his hand, and looks for their target, trying to remember exactly why they’re here again.

Preben is watching them with wide eyes, not bothering to restrain himself or try to look decent. “What say we cut this party short,” he offers, thick Danish accent growing even thicker. There’s an obvious bulge in his pants.

Tequila, whose hand is still resting on Eggsy’s lower back, makes a big deal of looking around at all the other partygoers. It’s a nice touch. “But you said this gala was important to you, Preben—”

“Jason,” Eggsy interrupts, looking up at him and smiling. It’s the first real smile he’s given all day. “Let’s go celebrate our anniversary.”

-

They make it back to Preben’s room without kissing again _somehow_ , and Eggsy keeps track of the twisting corridors as best he can. The drug lord’s room is as decadently furnished as the rest of his house, and Eggsy takes his time looking at each painting and frame to try to identify any hidden safes. Merlin gasps when he passes one with vivid yellows and oranges and Eggsy freezes in place, only for Merlin to demand, “Ask if that’s an original Klimt.”

“Is this an original Klimt?” he repeats, turning around to look at Preben. The man has settled down on his bed, and seems to be in the process of inviting Tequila to sit down with him. Tequila is playing coy, pulling at his shirt and brushing his hands through his hair.

“Oh,” Preben glances over, distracted. “Of course.”

Merlin lets out a mixture of a squawk and wheeze, and Tequila honest-to-God _giggles_. When Preben looks at him in confusion, Tequila covers for the mistake by sitting down on the very edge of the mattress, out of Preben’s reach. “You’re so extravagant. _Of course_.”

It’s not a compliment, and Eggsy can clearly see it for the insult it is, but Preben is so up his own ass that he just grins and beckons Tequila closer. “Frugality is for common men, and we are not common.”

Tequila throws a look over his shoulder at Eggsy that is impossible to interpret, and then moves up the bed towards Preben. “No, we are not,” he agrees, and they start making out.

“Christ,” Eggsy mutters under his breath, looking back at the paintings. He can only assume Tequila is doing this as a method of distraction for Eggsy to keep snooping, but it doesn’t make it easier to watch. He glances back at the bed anyway, because he’s a glutton for punishment, and because he looks back at the exact right moment, he sees Tequila go still and then pull away from Preben.

“Sorry,” Tequila says, too quickly. His accent comes through a little stronger than before, and bewilderment flashes across the drug lord’s face. “I can’t,” he pleads, and it seems like he’s talking to Eggsy and Merlin, not to the target at all. “I thought I could, but I…”

“Darling,” Eggsy quickly says, watching Preben droop, bemused. They were so fucking close. “It’s all right. Come here.” Tequila gets up from the bed, and that disgust is back on his features again. Eggsy does the only thing he can do to wipe it off; he walks up to Tequila and leans into him. “Preben can watch, for now.”

The way their mouths meet makes the whole act seem so flimsy, so transparent. This is real attraction; the hunger that pushes Eggsy to slide his hands under Tequila’s shirt and the desperation they attack each other with. Everything else was a shade of a shade of something real; this is so real it hurts. There’s a soft whizzing noise, but Eggsy doesn’t even register it at first, too busy gasping as Tequila bites his lip.

And then he does register it, and he jerks away from his partner, looking around in fear and panic. But the familiar sound of a dart hadn’t been directed at either of the Kingsmen, although it had originated from one of them; Tequila licks his lips, and then reaches down to adjust his watch. Eggsy sees the word AMNESIA displayed across its face, and then turns to look at the bed, where Preben is slumped over his own lap, out cold.

Everything is frozen in time as Eggsy looks back at Tequila. He thinks about the disgusted look on his face after kissing Preben, and how he was the only one of the Statesmen to develop blue rash. There’s a definite correlation there but Eggsy doesn’t know him well enough to ask about it. As he leans into Tequila’s touch he thinks that this thing between them is a ticking bomb; but he still wants to enable it. He wants to be allowed every secret about the other agent. He wants them to explode.

“That’s one way to skin a cat, I suppose,” Merlin says over the comm, and Eggsy very quickly remembers that his handler had been watching the entire time. He feels his face heat up, and judging by the look on Tequila’s face, the other man had forgotten about their mission for a brief second as well. “Well done, gentlemen. I’ll give you directions to Preben’s private office; it’s in this wing of the building, which you three are currently alone in. You two have about an hour and a half to find the intel we need and get out of Copenhagen.”

Eggsy and Tequila look down at the comatose drug lord, and then Eggsy glances over at the wall. He exchanges a look with Tequila, who licks his lips again and then cracks a grin. “Sounds good, Merlin,” Eggsy replies, also grinning. “We’ve just got one thing we’ve got to do first.”

Merlin pauses with all the exhaustion of someone who has had to watch a hundred honeypot missions. “And what’s that?”

“Buddy,” Tequila laughs. “Come on. You _know_ we’re stealing the painting for you.”

An excited noise comes through the call for just a moment before Merlin cuts himself off. When he returns a moment later, he coughs before speaking. “Do what you must, agents.”

 

3.

They don’t talk about it.

Not when they get back to base, nor when they see each other for their next mission. Maybe in the old days of Kingsman it would have been hot gossip, but now that the members have been cut down to a fraction of what they once were, no one talks about it— least of all Tequila and Eggsy. Merlin brings it up to him when they’re drinking together one night, but Eggsy quickly shuts down the conversation, reminding Merlin to keep business and pleasure separate.

“We both seem to be particularly shite at that,” Merlin comments, frowning into his mug of dark beer. Eggsy stares at him, and thinks about Tequila, and then thinks about how Harry hadn’t left Merlin’s side during his entire recovery process— nor had Merlin left Harry’s.

They tap their beers together in silent salute.

He doesn’t talk to Tequila about it, not even when Tequila hails him late one night with the request to come over. Eggsy swallows down his heart and spends a good half hour cleaning himself up before finally replying to the message with a simple “ya where r u”.

“Outside” comes back instantly, and Eggsy runs out of his bedroom, unshuttering his window to peer down into the street. Sure enough, Tequila is standing outside, leaning against his car and tapping his phone screen with the focus of someone trying to disarm a bomb.

(Eggsy will later discover that Tequila has a mild addiction to Snake.)

He lets him in, and they still don’t talk about it. It turns out what brings Tequila over on this crisp autumn night is not pleasure but good old business; he’s brought with him a pile of documents the size of his torso and an earnest request for help. Eggsy hasn’t had to do research since he cared about doing well in school, which is to say, _several_ years, and he was never any good at it.

“I don’t care,” Tequila informs him bluntly. “I’m gonna die of boredom if I try to figure this out alone.”

So Eggsy brews tea (without whisky, much to Tequila’s disappointment) as Tequila lets JB2 and Mr. Pickle II out to run around in the backyard, one of the best features of Harry’s new house. Eggsy is always worried that the dogs are going to slip under the fence and disappear, but Harry assures him that the area is perfectly safe, and that more importantly the dogs are loyal.

When Tequila returns Eggsy is already reading the first book, so they dive right into it. Tequila is looking for a lead he had years ago that went cold on a band of smugglers, and any archived information might be useful, which is apparently why he’s looking through old case files and books on firearm smuggling, some fiction and some nonfiction.

“Hey,” Eggsy speaks up after a few hours, when they’re on their third cups of tea and the pot has gone cold. “Who’s this Adam whose name keeps coming up? Is that one of the Statesmen?”

Tequila looks up from his book, narrowing his eyes. “Yep.”

“Who? He’s wicked,” Eggsy says, holding up a written log from a mission in Tanzania, where Adam had to face a gang of seventeen trained gunmen by himself. “Is he Hennessy? I feel like Hennessy suits him.”

Tequila’s face contorts into something indescribable, and then he bursts out into laughter, beaming at Eggsy. “Actually, his codename is Tequila.”

Eggsy stares down at the page, and then up at Tequila. “You’re taking the piss.”

“Swear I’m not,” Tequila laughs. “You didn’t think my folks named me Tequila, did you?”

“No.” _Kind of_. “I just… it didn’t seem that important. Merlin doesn’t like his old name, so I’d never call him anything but Merlin— it seems rude to ask.”

The laughter subsides, and Tequila takes a sip of tea, still smiling brightly— but it’s more intense now, somehow, like he sees right inside Eggsy. “Right. Like how I wouldn’t call you Gary.”

“Oh, fuck off, _Adam_ ,” Eggsy says, and tosses a book at Tequila’s head. He catches it, because of course he does, and their research session quickly devolves into a living room scuffle.

Eventually Eggsy’s brain gets too tired to process the words on the page in front of him, and he dozes off watching Tequila pore through an old book. He swears he hears the other agent say good night, but maybe that’s just wishful thinking.

-

When he wakes up, Tequila is still there next to him. Eggsy reaches over to wake him up or take his hand or something, but then a noise from the other room prompts Eggsy to realize he’s not alone.

Harry peeks in, and Eggsy has to laugh quietly at the sight of his mentor-turned-father-figure-turned-housemate wearing a robe over his clothes. It makes him look like that soft, vulnerable lepidopterist, but for once Eggsy doesn’t hate the idea. “Morning, Harry.”

“Good morning,” Harry says, sniffing disdainfully and raising an eyebrow. “I see you had company over. How is Agent Tequila?”

“Well, I had to invite _someone_ over since you’re never home anymore,” Eggsy grouses, and then his eyes narrow. “Wait. That isn’t your robe.”

Harry glances down, and then looks up at Eggsy, frozen with guilt. “Yes it is.”

“It’s most certainly not,” Eggsy says, trying to remember where he saw that robe last. He sits up on the couch, and squints at Harry. “Whose is it?”

“Mine,” Harry insists, indignant, and disappears into the kitchen again.

Eggsy scratches the back of his neck and wishes that every part of him wasn’t sore from sleeping on the couch last night. He stretches out his back, and glances over at the screen door that’s still open; at some point the dogs must have come in, since they’re both sleeping on the couch beside Tequila now. Eggsy softens at the sight, and he’s about to reach for his phone to take a picture or something when the realization suddenly hits him.

“MERLIN’S ROBE!” he screeches at the top of his lungs, setting off both dogs barking madly.

A pillow is instantly launched in his direction, and Tequila raises his head to glare at Eggsy, still drowsy. “Calm the fuck down, Harry Potter.”

 

4.

The next time Eggsy wakes up beside Tequila, his head is foggy and he doesn’t remember how they arrived here. Unfortunately he’s got no choice but to suspect foul play, seeing as he and Tequila are seated back-to-back in total darkness and their hands are tied together.

“Son of a bitch,” Tequila is muttering over and over again under his breath, occasionally shaking their restraints. Eggsy assumes that the jarring motion is what woke him up, and he looks over his shoulder at Tequila as best he can. Tequila stops shaking and mumbling to himself, and lets out a low, humourless laugh. “Morning, agent.”

“Is it?” Eggsy cranes his neck to look up, but as far as he can tell, they’re locked in a dark, cold space with little to no light. Their ankles have also been tied together, and the only source of light he can occasionally see is from a long line on one of the walls. There’s a peculiar sound around them like everything is moving; maybe they’re in some kind of giant crate. “Morning, that is?”

“Your guess is good as mine, Galahad,” Tequila says, sounding much more coherent and conscious than Eggsy feels. “We’re in the back of a truck, but I got no idea when it is, where we are, or where we’re headed.”

“Oh,” Eggsy says simply, feeling stupid for not figuring it out. His head is pounding once more— but not the hangover kind of pound, the head wound kind of pound. “I think somebody hit me; I feel like shit.”

“Yeah, same here,” Tequila grunts, shifting around in their restraints. “I’ve got one hell of a split lip. So unless you and I got in a fight I don’t remember, my guess is we’re being kidnapped.”

“Fuck,” Eggsy replies, head drooping. He feels like he might be sick— whether that’s from their situation or from the truck shifting around them. “Do you have anything on you?”

“No.” Tequila sounds as miserable as Eggsy feels; it’s an unpleasant shift from the man’s usual high spirits. “They stripped me down. Don’t even have a flask. Do you?”

Taking inventory of everything that’s missing ( _his phone, his glasses, his umbrella, his lighter grenade)_ , Eggsy suddenly realizes something— and smiles. “I’ve got my shoes on.”

There is a beat without comprehension, and then Tequila says awkwardly, “I guess that’s a start?”

“No, like— hang on,” and Eggsy takes a minute to work his shoe off of his foot. It takes some time seeing as he can’t use his hands or his other foot and he’s got to be cautious about activating the heel mechanism, but finally he succeeds. His shoe lands an inch or so away from them, so Eggsy starts to shuffle over. “Come with me.”

“Okay,” Tequila says, still sounding uncertain but clearly down for whatever. Eggsy shuffles over until he can reach for the shoe with his (and Tequila’s) hands, and then grabs hold of it. Once he’s got it, it’s the easiest thing in the world to slam the heel on the truck floor. The poisoned knife pops out without any fanfare, and Tequila hums, impressed.

“That’s the fastest acting poison known to man,” Eggsy explains and brags, trying to pretend he doesn’t hear how much he sounds like Harry. “So I’ve gotta be careful, but here. Hang on.”

With a clever bit of bending, Eggsy manages to arch his back and fold his legs up so that he can cut the bonds around his legs, and things are much easier once he’s accomplished that. He stretches the tie around their hands as far as it’ll go, and Tequila pulls away too. Eggsy pretends not to notice how the other spy is trembling as he snaps the ties connecting them in half.

“Great job,” Tequila notes, not even bothering to hide his awe. Eggsy goes a little pink at the impressed tone, and is exceedingly glad the truck is mostly dark. If he’s thought about Tequila more and more ever since their honeypot mission went off the rails, well. That’s his business. Eggsy gets to his feet easily, and by the time he’s standing Tequila has flipped around to look up at him. “Mind taking care of me too?”

“Not at all,” Eggsy says, and then _instantly_ regrets it. Tequila doesn’t look away, so Eggsy just awkwardly clears his throat and pretends he didn’t say anything. “Here,” he stammers, dropping down to his knees and finding the loop tying Tequila’s ankles together. He severs it quickly, and then looks up at Tequila. “Need me to do your—”

But before he can even finish the sentence, the other agent who’s been struggling the whole time finally manages to snap his bonds in two. The tie pops like cheap plastic, and Tequila smiles, triumphant. Eggsy stares at Tequila’s newly freed hands, and then his arms and shoulders, and can’t help but marvel at the size of the man again. He thinks about Tequila’s hands on Preben, and then Tequila’s hands on _him_. This is going to go very badly for Eggsy.

“Nope,” Tequila says, and it’s the most he’s sounded like himself since he woke up. “But I’ll do you.” And with that he moves forward until he and Eggsy are sitting right up against each other again. He takes the shoe out of Eggsy’s awkward grasp and separates his hands before cutting the tie around his wrists. Eggsy is immensely glad for the darkness in the car to disguise any reaction he may or may not have had to Tequila moving into his personal space and holding his hands.

“Thanks,” Eggsy breathes, and for a moment they stay there like that, Tequila holding Eggsy’s palm in one hand and the most dangerous poison in the other. There’s a dark mark on Tequila’s slightly parted lips, and he smells like blood and sweat and some cologne that is _definitely_ not Kingsman spec. His eyes are dark too, flitting back and forth between Eggsy’s eyes like he’s searching for something. Eggsy licks his own unbloodied lips and asks, quirking an eyebrow, “How long were you waiting for me to wake up?”

Whatever Tequila is searching for, he doesn’t find it. He releases Eggsy’s hand, and hands him back his shoe, shrugging in that blasé way Eggsy is beginning to recognize as deflection. “Eh, you know. Not too long this time.”

It feels like a suspicious lie, but whatever further questions Eggsy had are halted by the truck slowing to a stop. As the brakes start to kick in both of them jump up to their feet, Eggsy groaning as the world spins around him again and Tequila eyeing the opening to the door with a wide frown.

They stand still, ready for action— but after a few minutes, nothing happens at all. Eggsy tries to listen hard in the hopes of hearing conversation or footsteps or _anything_. Tequila takes a different approach, walking around the truck and investigating some crates tied to the floor. He opens one of them up with minimal effort, and then stares down at the contents. “Eggsy.”

Eggsy immediately runs over (as best he can) and peers into the box. He’s shocked to see the contents— surrounded by packing peanuts are their possessions, haphazardly thrown into the box. While he doesn’t see any guns, he immediately lays sight on the lighter grenade and his umbrella and watch. On the very top of the pile are Eggsy’s glasses.

Eggsy looks over at Tequila, who has already retrieved his alcohol and is taking a sniff. He reaches for his glasses, and the moment he puts them on Merlin hails him. His handler looks exhausted, but lights up the second he sees Eggsy. “Thank the fucking lord,” Merlin says, leaning forward. “Where the _fuck_ are you two, Galahad?”

“Great question, Merlin,” Eggsy says. Tequila puts his glasses on too, blinking and shaking his head. “Where the fuck are we?”

There is a furious storm of keyboard clicks. “Deep in the northern mountains of Thailand according to your GPS. Your mission yesterday went south when the band of smugglers you were tracking down turned out to be more of an amateur militia, and we couldn’t send backup to your location in time.” Save for the band of smugglers, Eggsy doesn’t remember any of this. Judging by the puzzled expression on Tequila’s face, neither does his partner. “I’m assuming you two were hit with amnesia darts, and possibly drugged up in some other way. Are you both alright?”

“We’re fine,” Tequila answers, even though Eggsy is still curling his toes in his shoes to try to keep the ground from falling away underneath him. “For some reason, they left us all our stuff.”

Merlin is dumbstruck for a moment. “Wait, what? You’re still… being kidnapped?”

“Bingo, so get us out of here, Gin— _Merlin_ ,” Tequila quickly covers for his slip-up.

“Shite.” Merlin says. “Alright. The last intel you transmitted to us about these smugglers was that their primary goods were firearms, so you can expect them to be heavily armed. Eggsy, do you have your umbrella?”

 _Yes_ forms on Eggsy’s tongue, but he can’t make the word materialize. He hears Merlin say his name, and then sees Tequila turn to him with a confused and concerned face, but there’s nothing he can do. He blinks, slow and heavy, and then three things happen in the same instant.

One: Merlin frantically warns them about enemy heat signatures about to open the back of the truck.

Two: The back of the truck opens, and a mean-looking blond man about Tequila’s size stares at them. He reaches behind his back and pulls out a rifle, which Tequila recognizes as _his_ rifle.

Three: Eggsy finally loses his footing and collapses to the ground in slow-motion. He loses consciousness before his head hits the metal truck bed, but he swears he still feels the jolt of pain.

 

5.

When Eggsy wakes up, there is an immediate dull sting in his arm and sharp pain in his forehead. He tries to take notice of his surroundings, but it’s hard to even open his eyes at first— he wonders if he’s still being kidnapped, or if they managed to get out safely.

Truth be told, he remembers very little of what happened. After passing out he’d had a series of confusing dreams about Tequila carrying him out of the mountains while fighting off seventeen Tanzanian gunmen and, for some reason, Gazelle. He remembers the mission they’d been on, and all the planning they’d done to prepare for it, but he doesn’t remember embarking on the mission or the return trip at all. There are such large gaps in his memory that starting to think about what he doesn’t know makes his skull ache even more.

He opens his eyes, and the first thing he sees is an off-white hospital room; one he recognizes well. They made it back to the new HQ then. This bodes incredibly well for the rest of his luck, and so Eggsy looks down at his arm to try to identify the source of that pain.

There’s an ugly IV sticking out of his elbow, and Eggsy’s skin starts to crawl the second he looks at it. “Oh, bugger,” he says quietly, sounding a bit like Eeyore.

Eggsy looks up from his arm, searching for a monitor or clock or Merlin or anything that’ll let him know exactly how he’s doing or how long he’s been out. What he finds instead is a man leaning on the side of his mattress, face against the hospital bed and hair all mussed up. It’s a very exhausted looking Tequila, because of course it is; of course he’s waking up next to Tequila yet again. There are dark bags under the man’s eyes but at least he’s sleeping peacefully. Eggsy would hate to disturb him.

Eggsy reaches to call the nurse (who he assumes is Merlin; this is still a tight operation so until Amelia pops back in out of nowhere he’s pretty sure it’s going to be Merlin), but he shifts the blankets in the process and wakes his bedmate up. Tequila startles, jumping in his sleep and then sitting up quickly, staring at Eggsy like he’s looking at a ghost. “You’re awake.”

“Unfortunately,” Eggsy complains, waving around the arm with an IV in it. This turns out to be an awful decision, and he groans in sudden pain, “ _Fuck_.”

“Here,” Tequila says, jumping up to his feet to remove the IV. He carefully bandages it up, wiping away the blood with a practiced hand. Eggsy silently winces and watches because that’s all he can do. He’s surprised that Tequila has apparently been assigned nursing duty.

It just seems like it would be Merlin’s job.

“What happened?” Eggsy groans, resting his head against the hospital pillows. It’s unpleasantly firm, but he still has to fight the urge to fall asleep. “We got out okay, yeah?”

“No thanks to you,” Tequila says, and maybe it’s meant to sound like a gripe but his voice is soft and a little embarrassed. His lip has healed up completely, and Eggsy distinctly remembers it being split down the middle by a mysterious combatant. He wonders how long he’s been out.

Tequila inhales slowly, shaking his head. “It was a shitshow. There were so many more of them than we’d accounted for, and once you were out cold you were out for good. Harry suspects that someone drugged you with something stronger than what they gave me, or that maybe your body isn’t as used to taking opioids as mine.” He shrugs with one shoulder, and then smiles at Eggsy. “I had to carry you out of there.”

“You carried me?” Eggsy asks, almost dumbstruck.

“Yeah,” Tequila nods, and Eggsy is immediately possessed by the image of Tequila tossing him over one shoulder and starting a fight deep in the mountains with several armed gunmen. He thinks about Tequila building them a shelter for the night out of whatever supplies he could find, waiting on backup as Merlin tried to find a safe extraction team. He thinks about being slung over Tequila’s back like a prize, and is unsurprised to find the idea appealing. “Had no other choice. What was I gonna do, leave you behind?”

“You carried me,” Eggsy parrots back at him. He still feels stunned. “And you fought off a whole band of kidnappers by yourself.”

Tequila looks away from the bed, scratching the back of his neck. “To be fair, they were the stupidest kidnappers in the world, so it ain’t a big deal. Nothing to write home about. Who would leave a hostage’s belongings in the same damn room as them, not locked up or anything? It’s like they wanted to die.”

Maybe the painkillers are inhibiting his restraint, or maybe he’s just tired of Tequila downplaying his importance. Before Eggsy can control his tongue, he says, “Stop that shit.”

“You… don’t wanna hear about how I killed them?” Tequila frowns.

“No.” If the pillow beneath his head wasn’t so crucial to his existence right now, he’d pull it out and lob it at Tequila. “Stop pretending it was nothing.” A random memory stirs— he thinks about Tequila making jokes after they woke up together, back when Eggsy was still under the impression that they’d fucked. _Don’t beat yourself up_ , he’d said. He thinks about what he’d read in Adam’s personnel file about a travelling rodeo company, and it’s impossible to imagine that man growing into the talented spy sitting at Eggsy’s bedside like an obedient dog, or a grieving lover. “Stop thinking so little of yourself.”

This does _not_ garner the reaction Eggsy was hoping for. Tequila huffs, sitting up ramrod-straight. He looks like one of the army trainers Eggsy used to unsuccessfully flirt with, and Eggsy would comment on it if he didn’t also look so helplessly defensive. “ _So little of myself_ — you clearly don’t know a god damn thing about me. If anything, I’ve got the opposite problem. Champ has told me multiple times I’ve got an ego the size of my dick, and I’m inclined to agree with that man’s word over yours, since he actually knows me.”

Eggsy swallows down his impulsive response ( _I know you_ ) and narrows his eyes. It’s hard to look challenging from a hospital bed, but he does his best. “I’ve seen your dick so that can’t be true.”

Tequila looks like he might flip the cot over in a sudden rage, and then embarrassment and humility flash across his face in the span of a second. He slumps down in his seat. “It was nothing. Really. You’d’ve done the same for me.”

And that stirs something _else_ inside Eggsy, something he’s been actively trying not to think about for weeks. Something that started when Tequila poured lukewarm alcohol across his and Merlin’s laps, and that picked up pace when they kissed in the drug lord’s bedroom in Copenhagen. It hasn’t slowed down yet, and Eggsy is starting to wonder if it’s ever going to stop, or if they’re going to keep careening into each other until they finally collide.

“I would,” he replies, lacking the energy to be anything other than honest. Tequila doesn’t look in his direction, fidgeting with his hands. It’s awkward, and not the earnest confession he imagined.

“I should hope so,” Tequila mutters, playing the fool. “I’d like to think my coworkers value my life when I flew across the Atlantic for this new job.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Not what I meant.”

“Well,” Tequila starts, and then deflects yet again. “I came to Kingsman because I knew I was in good hands—”

“If you think I’m talking about Kingsman right now, you’re a fucking knob. Or a dickhead. I can’t quite tell which one it is, due to my head condition and your usual predilection for being a dickhead.”

Finally, Tequila looks up at him, making eye contact— and he laughs. It’s soft and gentle and not at all the sound he’s used to. “Let me finish, asshole. I came to Kingsman because I knew I was in good hands with you. Not the butterfly guy and the walking dead. You.”

“Oh.” Eggsy flushes again, heart beating quicker at the idea. “Me?”

“Yeah. I know you would’ve done the same for me, so. That’s why it’s no big deal.” Tequila shrugs, but his gaze is carefully measured. “All that bein’ said, I don’t think you could carry me.”

Before he can think better of it, Eggsy blurts out, “I could try,” and a slow smile spreads over Tequila’s face.

 

\+ 1.

“Galahad. Mind explaining why your feed is shut off?”

Merlin speaks over the comm, irate and snippy. For once, Galahad ignores his handler entirely, paying the voice no mind. His head is all healed up, as is Tequila’s mouth, but Eggsy is doing his best job to disrupt those lips again.

It’s been three weeks since Thailand, and three months since Denmark, which means it’s been _way_ too fucking long since Tequila kissed him. Tequila obviously feels the same way, given the way his knee is pressed between Eggsy’s thighs. They’re rutting against each other like teenagers who don’t know what to do with themselves, which is pretty accurate as to how Eggsy feels in this moment.

Now that he’s got Tequila here, he doesn’t know what to do with him; there’s a heat coursing between them hotter than any explosives Kingsman has to offer. Eggsy moans and scratches long lines down his shoulders when Tequila kisses his neck, and Tequila doesn’t shush him at all, teeth running over his jugular like he’s about to rip his throat out.

“I need,” Eggsy starts to ask, and cuts himself off with a whine when hands tighten on his hips. Tequila looks up at him with concern, and then kisses him gently. It’s a nice moment of affection that is promptly interrupted by a completely oblivious Merlin.

“If I don’t hear from either of you in the next three seconds, I’ll be forced to assume that Agent Tequila has switched to the enemy side and taken you hostage.”

Tequila rolls his eyes, pulling away from Eggsy, and reaches up to fumble with his glasses. “Shows how little y’all think of me,” he grunts into the microphone, punctuating the sentence by rocking his hips forward. Eggsy can’t remember ever being this hard in his entire life. He grinds forward one more time, and then is struck by a brilliant idea. He moves off the bed, sinking to his knees. Tequila’s eyes stay pinned to him the whole time. “Galahad is fine, promise.”

“Then why’s his feed off?”

“He just…” Tequila has to bite his lip as Eggsy tugs him closer, shoves down his bespoke pants, and pulls his dick into his mouth. Tequila’s cock is thicker than Eggsy had remembered, and it’s definitely the biggest one he’s ever sucked before. Definitely a personal triumph. He looks up at Tequila, eyes shining, and is blown away by the look on the man’s face. He’s staring at Eggsy like he’s about to propose.

And then Tequila winks, and Eggsy licks a stripe up his dick. “He just took a shot of tequila, and he’s having a hard time rallying,” Tequila tells Merlin, voice thick. Eggsy has to struggle not to laugh.

“A shot of…” The comm goes silent. “Where’s the target?”

“Sleeping in her hotel room,” Tequila replies, running his hand through Eggsy’s hair. His acting is truly phenomenal. “Y’all still got a camera on her, right?”

“Well, yeah,” Merlin admits before protesting, “but I don’t understand what’s going on. Where is Eggsy?”

Suddenly fed up with the intrusion, Eggsy pulls his mouth off Tequila’s cock and reaches to turn on his microphone. “Jesus fucking Christ, Merlin, trust me when I say you do _not_ want my video feed on right now!”

“Unless you feel like broadening your knowledge about the Statesmen,” Tequila laughs, and it must be a testament to how good at sucking cock Eggsy is that he hasn’t gone soft. Eggsy reaches around the backs of his thighs, holding on gently, and Tequila looks down at him with that same soft expression. He’s started to recognize it as the loving look reserved exclusively for him (and for really cute dogs).

There’s a scuffle over the microphone and then nothing, and Eggsy shuts off his glasses before tossing them onto the bedside table. Tequila follows suit, but he doesn’t let Eggsy continue to go down on him, reaching for his shoulders instead. He easily pulls Eggsy back onto the bed, and starts to strip him down.

When he’s got Eggsy’s shirt off and trousers halfway down, Eggsy stops him, leaning in to kiss him. “I need this to not be a one-time thing,” he demands, one sock hanging off his foot. It seems ridiculous to press the point now, but it’s suddenly crucial.

Tequila kisses him back for so long that Eggsy thinks he’s not going to get an answer, and then he pulls back just enough to speak. “I’ve been into you since I poured that bottle over your dick, and that was when I thought you were an enemy spy. Now that I know I can trust you, you ain’t never getting rid of me.”

They kiss again, and again, drawn together like magnets. Merlin is going to give him hell for this in the morning, but Eggsy can live with that as long as he wakes up next to Tequila.


End file.
